Morning sunlight poured into the Stone mansion through floor-to-ceiling windows, but it brought no warmth only headlines.
The marble breakfast table was quiet. Too quiet.
Amelia sat with her tea untouched, the tablet screen glowing in front of her.
She didn't need to scroll. The headline was bold enough.
> Billionaire CEO Alexander Stone Spotted at Late-Night Meeting with Former Flame Veronica Lane.
Below the headline was a photo.
Blurry. Grainy.
But unmistakable.
Alexander, dressed in his dark overcoat, standing near a sleek black car, speaking to Veronica. Her hand on his arm. Her head tilted just enough to suggest... something intimate.
And though Amelia told herself a thousand times not to react her fingers curled tighter around her cup.
Just then, the doors opened.
Alexander stepped in, dressed for the office, cool and composed. He looked at her, then at the tablet, and sighed.
"You saw it."
"Hard to miss," Amelia replied, her voice calm.
He sat across from her. "It's not what it looks like."
"Then what is it?"
He held her gaze. "She cornered me outside the office building. I didn't invite her. I didn't ask to meet."
"And the hand on your arm?"
"I didn't even feel it."
Amelia exhaled slowly. "Then why not say something immediately? You knew this would blow up."
"I had meetings all night. I barely checked my phone."
She stared at him, unmoving.
Not angry.
Not hurt.
Just... processing.
"This marriage was built on strategy," she said. "But lately, it's felt like something more."
"It is."
"Then I need to know," she said, voice firmer. "Are you still attached to her? Even a little?"
"No."
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly?
Amelia wasn't sure.
But his expression didn't flicker. There was no hesitation in his eyes.
Still, trust wasn't something that bloomed overnight.
And wounds from betrayal—even imagined betrayal—had a way of cutting deeper than any enemy.
"I'm not a woman who shares," Amelia said softly. "Not space. Not attention. Not my husband."
Alexander leaned forward. "You're not sharing anything. I shut her down. You just haven't seen the fallout yet."
Amelia studied him.
She believed him.
She wanted to believe him.
But the damage was already moving like fire through dry grass.
By noon, the news had spread.
Every blog, every newsfeed.
Photos.
Speculations.
Comparisons between Amelia's quiet strength and Veronica's old charm.
Some questioned if Alexander had married too fast.
Some whispered that the wife had been a rebound.
The comments stung more than Amelia expected.
She wasn't a fragile woman but public doubt was a different kind of poison. One that didn't just stain her image... it chipped away at her presence beside him.
Veronica, of course, said nothing.
Her silence was louder than a statement.
That night, the board held an emergency PR strategy meeting in the mansion. Alexander insisted Amelia join them.
She entered the room in a dark burgundy dress, her chin high, every step saying I belong here.
Half the men looked surprised.
The other half? Curious.
Amelia didn't speak until she'd heard the entire media strategy.
"Deny everything. Clarify it was a passing interaction," one executive said.
"We can release a pre-approved photo of Mr. and Mrs. Stone from the gala," another suggested.
"Do damage control without over-defending," someone else muttered.
Then they looked at her.
"What do you think, Mrs. Stone?"
She stood slowly. All eyes on her.
"I think you're reacting like you're guilty. And that makes us weak."
Silence.
"I think you should double down on unity. Not denial. Give them the truth—but on our terms. Let them see that this marriage isn't fragile. Let them see that no one—past or present—gets to shake this foundation."
Alexander watched her, something flickering in his gaze.
"And how would you do that?" someone challenged.
Amelia turned to Alexander.
"Let's host a private dinner this weekend. Not a party—a curated evening. Just close allies, key reporters, and influencers. Let them see us. Let them write their own headlines when they witness what this marriage actually looks like."
The room murmured.
Alexander finally spoke.
"Do it."
Amelia nodded. "Let me handle the guest list and design. But you'll need to be ready for questions. Real ones."
He leaned back, his voice low and sure. "I trust you."
Later that night, as the house emptied and the silence returned, Amelia stood by the window of her bedroom, arms crossed.
Alexander entered without knocking.
"They'll believe what they want," he said quietly. "No matter what we show them."
"I don't care about them," she replied. "I care about you. About us."
He came closer. "Then trust me when I say—she's not my weakness. You are."
She turned to him, startled.
"Your weakness?"
"My strength. My distraction. The person who makes me pause in the middle of chaos. That's dangerous in my world. And powerful."
Amelia swallowed. "Then don't let me fade into the background, Alexander. I won't play second to anyone—past or present."
He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.
"You won't have to," he said against her skin.
And this time...
She believed him.
Not because of his words.
But because of the way he held her—like the only truth he trusted in a world full of lies.